


if we make it back

by Marianne_Dashwood



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crowe Altius Deserves Better, Crowe's History, Disjointed, Found Family, Gen, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV (2016), this is very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:37:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marianne_Dashwood/pseuds/Marianne_Dashwood
Summary: A look at the broken children of the Kingsglaive; from their first breaths to their last





	if we make it back

**Author's Note:**

> I miss you
> 
> aka
> 
> i found this in my folders, and this was the result of doing a lot of kingsglaive rp, and as a result, contains a lot of my personal headcannons for the glaive members. 
> 
> This is dedicated to all of you. You know who you are. I love you.

 

She remembers her first self clearer than she cares to admit. She remembers the way the syllables dripped off her grandfather's tongue when he picked her up and spun her around, (he only ever picked her up when there was no one else in the room and she didn’t understand, because she loved her grandfather even when he didn’t even look at her sometimes), the way that he dragged out her name the way that no one else did; ‘Cass-an-d-ra!’ Even her mother never used her full name, not unless she was in Serious Trouble; ‘ _ Cassan _ -dra!’ 

She remembers the dark corridors where her mother sometimes brought her to work. She remembers how she and Robin (only he wasn’t Robin then, he was Robin later and she can’t remember what his name used to be) had two rules: stay close to Mother, and do not touch anything. 

The third rule was unspoken, but the two of you followed them anyway: When Mother wants you to close your eyes, you do so, and you ignore any sounds that you might hear. 

She refuses to remember the noises. She focuses instead on the hazy memories of the Fancy Dinner that Mother, Father and Grandfather were all there for, and the one time she was allowed to stay up (To be shown off, she knows now), and she had the prettiest dress made with the colours of the Empire, and the insignia sewn into the back, and Grandfather's important friends chuckled over her as she scampered around, delighted in the free abundance of food in the way only a six year old can be. 

(She doesn’t remember this; how she stared at the man in the funny hat, because unlike all the other adults he was dressed  _ weirdly  _ and at first she thought he was a clown. He must have seen her staring because he came over to her, and he made her giggle, and she tried on his hat and asked about his hair. Her mother came and took her away before she got an answer and she didn’t see the expression on her mother's face)

The night they ran is a confusing memory. It wasn’t exciting, in that there was guns and explosions right out of the action movies that Robin  likes  liked. It was whispered, hurried, and she dropped her favorite toy in the middle of their old apartment. 

Sometimes, she wonders if it’s still there. If Grandfather came, and found it in the middle of an empty apartment where his daughter had lived, and realised that the Empire had finally asked too much of his family for them to stay. Inevitability, that leads her to wonder whether he had ever tried looking for her, after all that happened. If she lets herself wonder too much, another name change is in order. 

Cassandra Roth dies in a car accident on the outskirts of the Imperial Capital. Marcus Roth, head of the guard at Zegnautus Keep, and Doctor Lilianna Roth, daughter of General Safay Roth, and their two children die, officially, and a public funeral is held for their remaining family members. 

Cassie Salaraas arrives in Lucis, red eyed and clutching her brother’s toy. Mark and Lily Salaraas welcome a little girl, Ravenna, into their family eight months later, when Cassie has learned how to be Cassie and not Cassandra, and how to no longer be the baby of the family, but the middle child.

She is Cassie for almost seven, glorious years of childhood, and then the question of whether Grandfather ever came looking for them is answered. 

* * *

Her father dies first, defending their small fishing village with those who dared defy the invading army, because that is what it was at first, the invasion of Lucis. He lasted a lot longer than the others, with his knowledge of MT’s and their weak spots. 

* * *

 

The Kingsglaive are a family, until one day, they are not. 

It starts on a dusty road, with a woman on a motorbike, and she doesn’t know, doesn’t know that death is coming for her because why would she?

She sees a friends at the wheel of an unmarked van, she believes him when he tells her  _ we’re here as protection until you reach Tenabrae, Crowe, the Captain thinks something’s off.  _

The woman, Crowe, the little sister, affectionately called Little Bird by a select few, tough in the way that only little sisters are, turns her back to him. She trusts him to watch her back. 

The man in the car, Luche-  _ Don’t be such a buzzkill Luche!-  _ sighs, raises his weapon, and fires. 

Crowe screams when she hits the dirt, dust flying into her mouth and nose, but that is the least of her worries. 

The hollowpoint buries itself in her stomach, ripping her apart from the inside and she screams and screams and screams. 

Luche sighs again, and slides himself out of the car. It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be a one shot kill. He didn’t want to do this. 

Or did he? There is always a choice, and the gun in his hand is a choice and moving towards her is a choice? 

Here is his choice: One family or another?

_ I didn’t want to. _ He tells himself, and tries to make himself believe it, in all the sleepless nights left to him.

Crowe cries out in pain as her hands scrabble in the dirt, one hand pressed to the hole in her abdomen, the other trying to gain enough purchase to drag herself away from her attacker, from her  _ friend. _

She twists herself around when he stands over her, so he can see her dirt and tear streaked face, and the blood slowly staining the sand around her. 

He pretends not to hear her begging, the noise that haunts him until there is nothing to haunt anymore. 

(Luche, please, Luche, what are you doing, please, why are you doing this, what, Luche, please, please, I thought you were my friend, please, Luche,  _ please _ )

He says: “I’m sorry it was you.”

He makes his choice.

* * *

Here is another choice:

One day, another lifetime ago, Libertus finds a dirty, slip of a girl raiding his store of fresh rolls that he had planned to put out in the bar the next day. 

There is hunger in every line in her face, fear in the way she stands when the light above him flickers on and she realises that she has been caught. 

She does not run. She does not drop the food clutched to her chest in shaking hands. 

The girl looks up at him with defiance and rage in her face, even though every fibre in her body is screaming at her to run. Run like she has always done. 

“What are you doing?” He asks. A dumb question, and one she doesn’t lower herself to answer. She even rolls her eyes, fixing him with a fiery glare, daring him. 

They stand there for a moment, girl and man, and she looks a hell of a lot younger than she is, because she’s learned that being small and unassuming is the best way to survive. 

Libertus sighs. Nyx is going to  _ kill  _ him. 

“Look, uh...those are going to be really dry on their own. They’re meant to be served with a drink.”

She regards him quizzically. She takes a tentative step back, wondering if this will be the distraction she needs to run. 

“No, wait!” He says loudly- too loudly. 

She bolts, disappearing around the corner. Libertus gives chase, because he made a choice and godsdamn, he’s going to commit to it. 

When he turns into the alleyway she ran down, he finds himself on the receiving end of a punch. She might be near starvation, but she wouldn’t have survived this long if she couldn’t throw a solid right hook. 

“Leave me alone!” She says, her voice shrill in fear but determined. 

He doesn’t leave, but he does back away when he sees the flash of steel in her hand and a knife appears from seemingly nowhere. 

“Hey, take it easy.” He says, one hand coming up the try and stem the flow of blood from his nose. “I’m sorry I shouted.”

She doesn’t let go of the knife, but she doesn’t run, so Libertus counts it as a victory. She has, he notices, stuffed the rolls down the front of her shirt. 

“What do you want?” She demands. “I didn’t do anything!”

He huffs out a laugh. “Kid, I just watched you for at least five minutes gorging yourself on my food, you’re gonna have to be a little more convincing than that.”

She bristles, and begins backing away again. This time, Libertus doesn’t shout. 

“You won’t be able to catch me. If you try and call for help-” She holds the knife forward. It’s clear she knows how to use it, in the same way it was clear that someone had taught her how to punch properly. 

“Come inside.” Libertus says, and immediately regrets it when her face screws up in abject terror. “No, wait, please! I want to help.”

“No one just wants to help. She replies, knife still outstretched. “What do you want? Money? Sex?”

“ _ Fuck _ no!” 

His tone of voice must have sounded genuine, because she stops backing away. “Then what?” 

He holds his hands up. “I can give you a decent meal. Somewhere to spend the night. You don’t need to give me anything in return.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t need that. I don’t need your generosity.”

Libertus gives her a once over, taking in her grimy clothes, the bird nest hair, the bruises on her arms, and the way she is shivering. 

“Like hell you don’t.” He says. “Tell you what: you spend one night at mine, get warm, get something half decent in you, and I won’t report this to the police. And they will find you. My best friend is a bit… enthusiastic. And it's his bar too.” 

She laughs, hollow and bitter. “You wouldn’t. You’re too…  _ nice. _ ” She says the word nice like it’s the filthiest swearword on the planet. 

“Fine.” He concedes. “I wouldn’t. But you’ll still come?”

She doesn’t answer. He sighs again. 

“I’m going to turn my back.” He says. “And go back to the bar. If you’re still there when I turn around again, you can stay.”

When he reaches the back door, she is no longer there, vanished into thin air. Along with more of his rolls. Libertus can’t bring himself to be angry about this. Just upset. 

Except, when he enters the kitchen, the girl is sitting there, eyes wary, and body tense. 

“You try anything…” She says, warningly, and there is a quick flash of steel that quickly disappears again. 

“I won’t.” Libertus replies, and busies himself at the stove. 

“What’s your name?” He asks her later, when she’s fed and curled up on his couch in the flat above the bar. Good thing Nyx is working a night shift tonight. 

“What’s yours?” She says instead. Libertus sighs. (He already has a feeling this is going to be a common occurrence with this girl. It is)

“Libertus.” He says. “And my friend, he lives here too, he’s called Nyx. He won’t be around until tomorrow, though.”

She nods thoughtfully, laying her head down on a pillow in readiness for sleep. 

“So?”

“So what?”

“What’s your  _ name _ ?” Libertus asks again, frustrated. 

There is a pregnant pause. A bird squawks outside: the murder of crows that had moved into the tree on the street outside the flat. She takes so long to reply, that Libertus is about to give up and head to bed when her voice breaks the silence. 

“Crowe.” It’s the first time she hasn’t sounded angry, or scared, or even slightly nervous. Quiet, fierce, determined. Words that come to define her, except to those who truly know her. “My name is Crowe.”

“Crowe.” He lets the name linger, lets her respond to it, get used to how it sounds in the mouth of another, because it is definitely, 100% not her real name. He won’t push. But he gives her a chance to turn back. A choice. 

Crowe nods. She makes her choice. ( _ I will not be like my mother, I will not-) _

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Libertus drapes a quilt around her shoulders, one of the soft, heavy homemade quilts that his grandmother used to make, decorated with intricate stitching that would rival the royal tailors. It’s a patchwork symbol of home. He hopes he understands what it means when he gives it to her. 

He doesn’t know if she will be there when he wakes up. That feeling doesn’t go away for weeks, even after he wakes up the next day to the sound of voices, the smell of burning and the sight of the first smile he ever sees on Crowe, a faint twitch of her lips as Nyx burns yet another pancake. 

 

* * *

 

Beginnings are funny things. Unexpected, most of the time. Anticipated, perhaps. You never know when something that could change your life will start. This is one of the good beginnings. 

 

Endings are less funny, but no less unexpected. 

This is not a good ending.

 

* * *

There’s a corridor, and there is room up ahead, and Nyx keeps running, because the look the Captain gave him is one that he is too familiar with, and he knows, fuck, he  _ knows  _ that this corridor does not lead to the hospital. 

Still, he hopes and hopes and hopes, because all a Glaive has is hope. 

She’s stronger than this, she’s survived worse and  _ no Glaive ends up dead on standard escort. _

Libertus is raging, angry and spitting fire.

“That’s my friend you got in there, damn it!”

If he wasn’t already in crutches then he would already be in the room, and Nyx has to stop him, stop him before he  _ sees- _

“Easy, big guy.” He places a hand on Libertus’s chest, a familiar gesture, and underneath his palm he can feel the pulse of his heart, the fear, the terror of what awaits them, echoed by his own.

“Those bastards rushed Crowe in here a few hours ago, and they won’t let me into see her!”

Reassurances die on Nyx’s tongue as Libertus, crutches and all, shoves his way past the doctor that has just emerged from the room (The morgue, Nyx knows, he know, he knows he  _ knows) _

This is a beginning: Shared pancakes, an old quilt and the barest hint of a smile. 

This is an ending: The clatter of crutches hitting the ground, whimpers of pain as Libertus drags himself over to the operating table, and the sound of tears muffles in the indifferent plastic of a body bag. 

* * *

Everyone in the Glaive has secrets. That’s a given. 

You don’t ask. Most do not tell. 

All they have are their memories, their secrets of their past, and some would rather let take them to their grave than speak them aloud. 

They were all children once. That is not a secret. 

When you are watching them snap necks and dispatch MT’s with brutal efficiency, it is hard to imagine any of them had a life before the Glaive.

* * *

This is what it  _ was. _

It was two boys running in the woodlands of Galhad. 

It was a little girl trotting at the heels of her mother through the Imperial City. 

It was being free. It was being caged. 

There is a child, and there is a prophecy. None of these children are the children of prophecy, none of them are the Chosen One, but they will die for it anyway. 

They were children. 

Not anymore.

* * *

 

This is what it  _ is _ : family is what you choose. Always,  _ always _ , it is what you choose.

 

* * *

Nyx snaps the neck of the Glaive nearest to him, because there are traitors in the Glaive, and he has to get the Princess out, and he does not have time to process this, he cannot sit and think about how someone he’s trained with, fought with for years just tried to kill him and -

_ -What if I made a mistake, what if he was one of the good ones, what if what if what if- _

One good thing about the events of the rest of that day. 

He doesn’t have to think about how many of his family he has killed. 

 

* * *

 

There is a choice, there is always, always a choice, and as the carrier crashes, spins into oblivion in a fireball that no one can ever escape from, Tredd wonders whether he made the wrong one. 

 

* * *

_ Once upon a time _ , Nyx’s mother says, and the three of them gather around her, because his mother tells the best stories, even if he doesn’t understand them all the time, and sometimes Selena starts crying and they have to wait until tomorrow for the rest of the story.

_ Tell us that one about the Old War, Mother, that’s the best one! _

It is. It has far off places, daring sword fights and a prince in disguise. 

_ We heard that one yesterday, Nyx! _ Libertus moans, and Nyx sticks his tongue out at him. 

_ Hush now.  _ His mother says.  _ This is a different story.  _

Nyx pouts but he listens anyway. 

_ Once upon a time,  _ His mother starts again, smiling as she looks down at the sleepy children.  _ Once upon a time, there was a Prince, chosen by the Crystal. And the Crystal gave him great power, power to protect his people and his kingdom. He was a good Prince, and a better King, and he was beloved by his people. _

_ One day, a messenger came from the far outskirts of the kingdom.  _

_ “Sire.” The messenger said. “There is a great plague, and we seek your aid.” _

_ Now, he was the Prince, he was to be a King, and he left his throne in the hands of a man who was more like his brother than a simple friend, someone he trusted with everything he had,  _ (Because all a King has is his Kingdom, and he cannot be permitted anything else.)

_ And he left to go and heal his people.  _

_ Did he do it?  _ Selena asks, eyes full of hope, because she wants to be a healer, even though she is still a child. A child’s dream, like Nyx wants to be a hero, and Libertus just wants to be wherever his best friend is.

_ Yes.  _ Her mother smiles, because they are still young, and the ending of this story is not something you tell to children.  _ He saved them all, every last one. _

 

* * *

 

Once, there was a King. 

No. This is not a bedtime story. It has no moral. It has no end. 

Once, there was a  _ father. _

 

* * *

Once, there are two boys and a girl. 

Isn’t that always the way?

Once, there were two boys and a girl, and they ended up friends ~~because there are some things you cannot do~~ ~~_ without  _ ending up friends and  taking down a twelve foot mountain troll is one of them. ~~

Wait. That’s the wrong story. Try again.

Once there were two boys and a girl and  ~~ they saved the galaxy, and then another trio did the same again and again, because there is no other way. ~~

Still wrong. 

Now, there are two boys and a girl. The girl is fire, rage and beauty and  _ i am not my mother  _ and she stays, the greatest gift she can give to her family. The first boy is an arrogant, reckless, show off and they love him; he is the reason they fight, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. The second boy loves and loves and loves and follows his best friends until he cannot follow them anymore. 

Here is the thing about loving. 

You can love and love and love and they will still leave. 

Here is the other thing.

They don’t want to leave. 

 

~~~~~~~~

* * *

~~~~  


 

Names, like beginnings, are funny things. 

Sometimes, they are chosen for you. When it really matters, you choose them yourself. 

There was a girl, named for an old prophetess, the one no one believed, the one who was cursed. Now, the name itself is a curse. 

She’s been a lot of different people, over the years. That’s not unusual; people remake themselves all the time, change their outlook, their perspective, even their names, for no reason at all, other than they can. Still, she never expected to be one of those people who can become a different people as easily as one would slip on an overcoat.

Some things stay the same, every time she changes. The hard ‘k’ sound of her first name, the hissing noise that success all of her last names save for the first, those stay the same. She isn’t a creature of sentimentality, not in this life. It remains, nonetheless. 

The boys she meets, the boys she loves so fiercely and so tenderly it's a wonder she ever loved anything at all, their names were chosen for them. 

One, like her, was named for a character of myth and legend; the old goddess of the night, the one the prophetess would have prayed too when she saw the downfall of the city she sheltered in. 

(This, too remains the same. The city always falls. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. They let them in, they let the enemy in, the trojan horse, then had the gall to blame the enemy. 

In one version of the story, those in the horse are heroes.

In this version, they are not.)

The other- oh his name is so so apt, because look at what he did to her, to what he did to them both. He freed them. 

The girl, sitting on a sofa with a quilt around her shoulders in an unfamiliar house, looks up at the boy whose name means freedom. 

The girl, who was once Cassandra, who was once Cassie, who was once Cass, sheds herself of her legacy. 

_ I am not my mother, i am not my mother, i am not my grandfather, i am not my grandfather, i am not i am not i am NOT- _

Names can be endings too. 

 

* * *

 

_ Unlimited power _ . The Princess says to him, and he thinks  _ How many lives could I save, what could I do, I wouldn’t have to be ordered around anymore, I could be in control, I could end this now.  _

Could something this small really be so important? A mere trinket?

We’ve spoken of love. Spoken of freedom. Now, let's talk about power. 

People will shake their heads when they think of him.  _ He desired power, and that power burned him up, skin and bones and all, and he got what he deserved.  _

Here is what they will not say.  _ Anyone would have done what he did, anyone in the Glaive. Why is one a hero when he put on the ring and the other a traitor? _

In the end, they both burned. 

They are wrong about power: it does not corrupt. It takes and it takes and it takes until there is nothing left to corrupt.

The Princess tries to save him. She shows mercy. 

(Mercy. Something the Glaive have not been able to afford.)

The old kings do not show mercy. They do not forgive selfishness. 

Ask Luche what selfishness is. He will say:  _ Dying. _

Ask Nyx what selfishness is. He will say:  _ Leaving _ . 

Both of them wanted to save their home. They were fighting for the same thing. 

Who are the kings to say who did it the right way?

 

* * *

Here’s a good question.

Ask Crowe what selfishness is. She will say:  _ Staying. _

She’s been selfish for a very long time. 

 

* * *

Here’s a better question. 

What are we to define what selfishness means? Every sacrifice is selfish, if you stop and think about it. 

The story doesn’t end when someone is selfless enough to die. 

What is left behind are the people they die for. They are left to pick up the pieces.

What is left is an empty bar, a cold sofa, and a discarded quilt.

 

He is left. 


End file.
